New Day,New Challenges,Different feelings

Tag Archives: friendships

I know every line on your face; the permanent wrinkles on your forehead stressed from past unrequited love, the dent in your cheeks when you are amused and the crease in your chin when you laugh too hard. I like that these lines are my secret window into your soul; revealing your angst when you’re trying to be calm, unveiling your passion when you’re trying to be brave and showing your tenderness when you’re trying to be tough. I know all the lines in your face because I have dreamt it up more times than I can remember. It’s not only the face, it’s your being and the experiences that sum-up the man you are. Of these I dream of you.

That our meeting would be an epic comedic scene that even Jim Carrey couldn’t conceptualize if he tried to. And whether it’s in public or private, you would have eyes for no one else but me because in that moment, you’d be too entranced by my aura and vying for my attention desperately. Some wooing dates later and we would be an official pair, caught up in our own love story – an extraordinary love affair.

I dream of every moment spent with you being an adventure; that even though we are celibate, we’re comfortable exploring the subject. How you make me feel like the only girl in the world with your piercing glare and how even in the silence, you are one with my soul.

I have dreamed of the fights too and boy do they terrify me. That I would loose the one best thing that has happened to me in a while because of a loud mouth that must always blab everything that comes to it. How the need to assert my independence makes you proud yet frustrated. That all these years later, I never learned how not to pick my nose and how you hate that I am really not as confident as I’d like people to think.

I would dream of you choosing us over and over again when we seem to be at the end of our road. How you’d embrace my family and make it yours, and how you’d be the friend that my friends don’t talk to often but when they do, you had never left. That every tear shed braises your heart to reaffirm to you why you’d try hard to never see them again.

And I dream that home would be anyplace we are together, that you’d cherish my random dancing spurts and tolerate my temporary insanities. That when my weight retreats me into a cocoon, you’d know just how to bring me out. And I’d love how despite these, you’d love me aggressively. I dream that you’d come to appreciate my over vivid imaginations sometimes, because as you can already tell, I live in my head a lot. These are the things I dream of you.

I have read a good number of stories of successful people and how they came about their successes. More often than not, they stumbled on something, researched the topic and worked at it . For others ,they simply discovered their passion and zeroed in on it and for others it was just “finding themselves”.

This is the bane of this article. Recently, I have found myself wanting. Wanting more , to do more and to be more . I have been looking for myself and I must say this is one of the most tasking journey I have ever embarked on so far. How do you look for something that isn’t lost, for something that you might not find however hard you look? How do you stay
motivated to keep looking for the unknown ?

Success means differently to different people. My definition of success may not be similar to yours but I think we can all agree that the underlining factor to it is finding what speaks to your heart and doing it.

For a long time I thought it was writing, I taught myself the habit of reading books at a young age and somehow along the line, I fell into writing which led me to creating this blog. I’d admit that one of my moments of excitement still come after publishing an article. I love that feeling of seeing my work out there, because somehow I feel I am contributing however little to someone’s life who cared enough to read.

I had thought writing was my passion and a part of me still feels that way. If writing is the “thing” that I am looking for right now, then how did I loose it to begin with? Why and how did I get to losing it in the first place? I am constantly being bombarded by ideas for articles but for some reason I can’t bring myself to write. I recognize the potential within myself to be even better than I am now, but how is that supposed to happen if I don’t write often?

What if writing wasn’t really my passion and I forced myself into it ? Well,that’s what some of these successful people would tell you,to keep working at it ,which I did for a while until the well dried up (well of motivation to keep writing, not ideas) and had nothing more to give. If I establish that writing is not my passion, where does that leave me? Back to searching, and what would I be looking for exactly? How would I know when I find it that I have indeed found myself, my calling,the “thing” that has kept me restless this entire time. How do you know?

This is the one time in my life when I am not ashamed to say I envy my friends who have ‘found’ themselves and are thriving in it. I know one could suggest “well, what about my career switch? The epiphany? Wasn’t it what I was looking for?” To that I say, I am more than grateful to God for leading me on this new path. I am enjoying every bit of what I am taught so far and I cannot wait to translate that in the field.

I need something outside of my career though. Everyone says these days to have a ‘side hustle’. I have taught myself countless things so far. The beginning is always exciting and down the line, everything fizzles out. My understanding therefore of the “thing” is that which I dabble in, teach myself and the excitement would never leave me. I hope for my own sake that I find it soon because this could be an exhausting journey especially as the ‘thing’ is not so obvious.

Have you ever contemplated with this notion of ‘finding yourself’?. If so, what did you find and was it what you were expecting to find?

As always, thank you for stopping by. I love you for it and have a peachy day.

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It is the longest and oldest race ever run and the stiffest pursuit many have faced and yet, the world or most of us are still chasing it – Love. It is because of love that Romeo and Juliet died, it was for the same reason that King Edward VIII abdicated the throne to be with his lover.

Love has been the reason behind some of the most heinous crimes known to man, and also the very reason behind the most unexpected kindness to man. Families have been known to fall apart because of love when kids especially make “wrong” choices in partners. Love has brought the most unlikely people together and torn the most loyal of friendships into shreds.

Even the big book of Wisdom is not immune from the “wrath” of love; because Jacob loved Rachel so much, he endured an additional seven years of work after marrying Leah before he could finally be with his beloved.Rebekah loved and cherish one son over the other so much that she didn’t mind conning him out of his rightful blessings and the greatest love of all, that of Jesus Christ who died on the cross to save us all from eternal damnation.

With all of these, you would think that “we” have enough love lessons to learn from or maybe conclude that it is too cumbersome for one to deal with, but that is absolutely not the case. Everyone still yearns for that someone to call their own; someone to share experiences with and make memories that will stand time. Everyone hopes that love deals them a better hand and prays that they are lucky in love.

I have had countless encounters with love; some good, some bad, some outright bitter experiences but at the end of the day, I have found myself confused. I guess my dilemma at this point is when do you actually consider love to be love?

I am a very sensual person, sometimes too akin to my feelings and emotions. When I first meet someone that I like, I am sure like everyone else, there are those butterfly feelings. Granted they go away but that deep longing is always lingering around long after the butterflies have left.

But what is it then when you neither feel the butterflies nor the deep longing but clearly feel, to a large extend some level of connection? Or can the type of affection you feel toward somebody change to be another kind of affection? Say, at the beginning you are romantically and even sexually endeared to the person and after a while, you become more endeared to them in a casual/ brotherly way?

I am aware of cases where people who were formerly friend-zoned transitioned to become the lovers. In those cases, the affection changed from friendliness to something deeper. I am also aware that people break up when they don’t feel anything for each other anymore, when they feel they just can’t make it work. But my bind here is this, what about those people who know for sure they feel something but can’t quite define it?

I guess what am asking is what happens when the butterflies go away, when the longing and yearning for one another diminishes or disappears in some cases, when the spark is lost, and when desire is gone? What happens?

I often wonder how couples, my parents inclusive are able to stay with the same person for that long. I understand that the “how to” business thrives on couples but outside of that, what keeps people together really? Love actually or the realization that that is the best they might ever get and stick with it? Or is it a calculated decision? (believe it or not,some peoples’ decisions to stay in a relationship are influenced by the economic advantages/disadvantage of staying).

Life is difficult as it is already (well, for most of us anyways who are in the 1%), add love to the mix and you are faced with a complex situation which can go either of two ways. If you are dealt the right cards, it eases your life because it provides you a partner to share experiences and struggles with. But if you are unlucky, you might as well be digging your own grave because there is no telling how bad it is going to get and how soon.

Yet again, there are those of us who are in a lurch, neither knowing what or how to describe what we feel and yet unwilling to let the other party go.Sure it is unfair to them, but then, there is that future uncertainty and the promise that time gives us, that things could change for the better or worse still.

One thing I know for sure though is that love is indeed a beautiful feeling and my wish is for everyone to experience it at least once in their lives. I have experienced amazing selfless love and right now, I am sort of in limbo about my exact feelings at the moment but hope I can resolve it.

I wish you all love today and hope we all experience it today either by receiving or giving. Have a blessed rest of the week and as always, any love tips, advice, experiences are welcome.Happy Wednesday folks.

“It is not the length of life, but the depth of life” ~ Ralph Waldo Emerson
I sat still, shock electrifying my whole body and hairs rising on my skin as I tried to process the news my mom had just told me. I should have suspected as I did at other times that a call from my mom in the middle of the week was no good. The tone of her voice and her unusual questions gave her away but I would have never guessed what she was about to tell me. How could Elvis Mbene be dead? He was only 33 years old with a brand new wife. So how could he be dead?
As I sat there frozen, trying to process the horrifying information; memories began flooding me all at once and I started to reminisce on his beautiful soul.
Anyone who knew Elvis would attest to his charm, his ability to warm everyone’s heart with his contagious smile, his kind nature and the dexterity with which he pulled a crowd. Elvis was a special being; determined at a young age to charter his own course in life, leaving impressions on multitudes everywhere he went.
I met Elvis when I was 11 shortly after we relocated to Limbe and became neighbors. Through our parents’ friendship, we became acquaintances which quickly translated to attraction towards each other. I remember when I got my first kiss very vividly because it was the Christmas of 2001 and it was from Elvis. It was also the first and last time I got the beating of my life from my dad because he saw him kissing me. I had never regretted that day though, at least not the kiss and I remember it now like it was just last week. Over the years, the “crush” and “attraction” towards each other gradually turned to mutual admiration.
Elvis wasn’t just the son to Chief and Mrs Mbene, he was a son to every parent in Alpha club. He wasn’t just the brother to his sisters but a brother to many in Alpha club and a friend to all. It is very easy to see how and why Elvis was so likeable. He was the first person in our neighborhood who made something out his life. He had joined the Cameroon army as a sub-lieutenant after graduating from military school young. He was the envy of some but an inspiration to many and kids were aplenty who looked up to him for mentorship and friends abounded from every corner.
Gradually he climbed the ranks through dedication to his work. The army uniform never looked so good on anyone before and he wore it with so much charisma. As beloved as he was, so he was revered. His presence commanded a room but his personality, his smile shown through and drew people in. Every one, old and young, family and friends. He was “notre Capitaine”.
Dying at 33, some may say he lived a short life but everyone who knew him would agree that Elvis lived his purpose on earth. He loved his country so much he did all he could to serve it in the army. A look through his work archive shows a man who had so much tenacity, courage, determination and love for his job. The very thing he loved doing, ironically is the very thing that claimed him unexpectedly.
Elvis had just been recently deployed to Northern Cameroon to assist the fight against the terrorist insurgent group known as Boko Haram. His vehicle was on tour of the area when it ran over a bomb, believed to have been planted by the sect, killing him and the driver, another officer too instantly. http://news.yahoo.com/two-cameroon-soldiers-killed-suspected-boko-haram-bomb-141758514.html

Boko Haram has always been real to me. I stood with Nigeria and the rest of the world when the Chibok girls were taken and still pray for their safe return. I mistakenly watched a video of them slaying a human like it was goat they were slaughtering for soup and my mind has never been able to unsee that horror again. Almost every week, I hear of a new video released by their leader threatening the peace of their targets. What might have started as a cruel joke has gradually spun out of control into the beast now known as Boko Haram. Boko Haram has always been real, I have never doubted their existence or taken lightly the images of pain and suffering inflicted on the masses by them.
They have always been real, but on Tuesday they got realer when they hit so close to home. They got realer when they snatched at a very young age, one of the promising leaders of tomorrow’s Cameroon. They got realer when they took Captain Elvis M Mbene from his parents, sisters, wife, friends, neighborhood, city, province and country. Boko Haram got realer than I could have ever imagined in my wildest dreams.
Boko Haram needs to be stopped before they cause further harm to innocent families. Whoever stumbles on this tribute, please keep the #stopbokoharam alive on social media platforms; maybe when it is seen enough times, we would have adequate help to combat them and/or maybe, just maybe our leaders will decide to take them seriously and find a solution to this madness once and for all. Surely, their lives and that of thousands already lost in this battle are not in vain.
His colleague’s family is in mourning too, for they too have lost a son, brother, friend perhaps a husband. Like us, they are trying to make sense of this senseless tragedy. One thing is sure, that though they died in the line of duty, they died heroes. They died defending the motherland from the thugs who call themselves boko haram. Cameroon didn’t just loose soldiers, the South West province, the town of Limbe and the neighborhood of Alpha Club lost a son, a brother, a husband, a friend and a hero.
The nation of Cameroon and anyone who knew Elvis personally is aggrieved, for we didn’t just loose a great compatriot, we lost a wonderful human being. In death as in life, he continues to draw people in but this time is different; because there is a huge void, emptiness that we would never be able to fill except in our hearts. I am grateful for the time I had with him and I will forever treasure those memories. He may be dead but his star shines bright forever, in our hearts.
RIP to all the soldiers who have lost their lives fighting Boko Haram in Nigeria, Cameroon, Chad and Niger.

It was a beautiful July Friday and I was looking forward to getting off work. The week had been very hectic and busy and boring and long, which made it seem like it was never going to end. I couldn’t stop picturing the evening with a huge grin, it looked to be great one.

Finally, I was off work and the excitement for the evening climaxed with every hour. I checked my phone to find that I had a missed call from my boyfriend. I got a bit gloomy that I missed the call but then there was a voice message and he said he was looking forward to seeing me tonight and spending the weekend with me.

It was our four-month anniversary, not that I was counting. Even though we had not clearly defined things, there was a silent understanding between us that this was becoming a relationship and I was liking him more. The signs were all there, signs that this was not my kind of man; like him asking me to iron his clothes, clean his house, and cook for him. Not that I would have minded but it was the tone in which he said it, like I was his help and there would be no inkling of gratitude after I did them. One moment he says I am fat and should lose weight, the next he says I am just perfect. ” Please be sure to not break the treadmill” , that was one of the many comments he would make when I said I was going to the gym, he thought it was funny. The signs were always there, I just chose not to see them, I think.

I guess I ignored the signs because he agreed we were going to be celibate. I had saved it before for religious reasons and later, the saving was for the theories of the one. You know, THE ONE. I never quite did meet him but having had a prior relationship where that boundary was respected and never crossed probably left me naïve.And so, I never thought spending the weekend at his was endangering myself.

I got dressed in sleek jeans , a plaid shirt and ballerina shoes. I had my hair in my favorite up do, swept to the right side with peekaboo earrings. I looked in the mirror and murmured to myself ” darn girl, you are too pretty for your own good”. With that, I picked up my already packed weekend bag and purse and headed out to what was supposed to be a perfect weekend.

I got to his apartment at about 7 pm. I dropped my bags and as planned, we headed out for the evening. He was shopping for shoes for a cousin’s wedding he had to attend in New York in a few days, so we made several stops at a nearby mall and three DSW’s where he finally found it. It was 9:45 by the time we were done and continued the night to a restaurant. It was my first time at that particular one, I think it was called Ocean’s. It was neat and airy. The white-cloth-covered-tables were adorned with beautiful white roses. There were happy people everywhere, going in and out. We were seated in a corner with my back to the wall and him to isle. He looked happy as I was, happy to be there, with me. We ordered and talked, our food came, we ate, we talked and we laughed. I was a bit tipsy after two glasses of wine (it gets to me easily and he was the designated driver, so he had sweet tea). It was a perfect evening, just what I had pictured. I was liking this guy more.

We left the restaurant some time after 11pm and didn’t make it back to his apartment until past 12. I did my usual night ritual and went off to bed, he said he had to finish some office work. I could see him from the room on his computer but slowly, I was drifting off. This was the second time I was spending the weekend with him at his.

The kiss was gentle, warm and passionate but each one was more needy than the last. His thirst was increasing with every caress and he was beginning to touch me in places that felt uncomfortable. His breaths were heavier now and he seemed restless and needing more with each touch, each kiss and caress. I felt something heavy on my chest at the same time I felt my pajamas pants being torn away from me. I awoke to find my boyfriend on top of me.

I am not sure what is going on but I know I don’t like how I am feeling. I try turning and I am locked under his straddling thighs. My eyes are getting so huge like they are about to pop out of their socket and watery all at once. My heart is racing at 100 miles an hour and my body is doing some gymnastics I never knew it could. I am trying to understand why my boyfriend is staring at me like a lion admiring the catch it is about to feast on but nothing makes sense. I am trying to talk to him but the words aren’t coming out. I am screaming I think but I can’t hear myself. His hand is over my mouth and I think I see his mouth shape into a sshhhhh sound.

“Please don’t do this, you are hurting me, Eric stop, please stop, please stop”. I think I am screaming those words at him but why isn’t he listening. His eyes turn dark, I don’t remember seeing the whites anymore and his face filled with determination. He yanks my panties from me. I begin shivering, no, I think I am having a seizure. My body is ripped apart I can feel it, there is a deep wound and someone keeps turning a knife inside it. The wound is getting deeper and deeper and the pain is excruciating. I am soaked in tears, sweat and blood, i think.

My whole body aches, my head, my arms, the wound. The seizure has run its course and the gymnastics has reduced. My body isn’t responding to me anymore. I am instructing it to fight, to fight till the end. Wait, it’s the end. The weight is off my body but the aches are getting worse. I lay there still. I have nothing left. There is nothing left to do but sob.

Twenty four years of waiting, first for God, then for God to show me the one, all of it gone. Gone in a violent instant. This is not how I envisaged my first time, it was supposed to be special. He was supposed to love me and cherish it as I had. He was supposed to love me. He was my boyfriend. How could he love me and yet do that to me.

He was in the bathroom for all of two minutes after his great conquest. He gets back in bed. He is at the far end now, I am inconsolable and he doesn’t attempt. Instead he says ” so because I made love to you, that’s why you are crying?” . That was my cue to leave. I had no idea what time it was but one thing was sure, I didn’t know who this monster was and I had to get out, and get out fast. The signs were always there, I just chose not to see them.

DISCLAIMER: I am not accusing Bill Cosby neither I am insinuating he is guilty nor do I know of his innocence. Just sharing my experience at the hands of someone who I thought “loved” me.

I had an appointment with my mentor this morning about a possible change of major. It is finals week at school and of all four courses I took this semester, I did extremely poor in one. This has got to be the toughest course I have ever taken all my college life and I will end up with the worse grade I have ever had EVER in school. I can’t even tell you how bad but I am sure you can imagine, and because of this singular course, I am forced to have a rethink about what it is I really want to do or what career path I really want to follow.

I have considered repeating the course but I have also realized that the outcome would most likely be the same. I started out not having too much time for all my course work this semester trying to juggle work, school and a blog. I concluded that one had to go on the chopping blog and though my finances were tight, I decided it would be work, so I would have more time to study. I did just that and it didn’t seem to help at all. Failure is a very hard thing to acknowledge, but doing so allows for clarity on what the next action should be and so I am grateful that I have. Anyways, enough diversion already and back to the reason of the post.

This was my first semester at my new school and it was a great way to begin in a new environment (regardless of the “bad course”). Being the new kid on the blog, I was assigned a mentor whom I have met with at least four times throughout the semester. After the careful evaluation which led me to the decision that I may in fact need a change of major, I decided to talk to my mentor about it and find out his opinion about the two majors I was conflicted on.

I got to his office 15 minutes early before the appointment time and sat in front to wait for him. He came some twenty minutes later to find me in front of his office and asked if I was the lady who wanted to talk to him about my major. We went into his office and I explained my dilemma to him, to which he gave me very apt responses, careful enough to not lead me in any particular direction and stressing that it is my decision and he doesn’t want to sway me.

Towards the end of our talk, he tells me about a young girl whom he had just been assigned to mentor this semester and upon their first meeting, she told him how she transferred into the school and was in fact admitted into the nursing program to begin this fall, but switched career paths before classes even started. Her reason was that she had been contemplating for a long time if she could really be in the health field in that capacity because blood freaked her out. She discovered a new interest in computers and decided to try her hands at programming.

I am sitting there looking at him and saying to myself ” does he really mean he does’t remember that I was the one who told him that?”. For a moment I consider telling him he is talking about me but then decide against it and instead indulge him further. I acted surprised at the story he was telling me and he went on to tell me “he thought that was a stupid thing she did because so many people sit on waiting lists, with the hopes of getting into a nursing program somewhere and here she was throwing the chance away because of a problem that could be fixed”.

I let him go on and finish making his point, then tried to defend the “girl” in question, the whole time, reeling in shock that he doesn’t recognize “her”. We finished our little debate and I walked out. As I left, I kept wondering if he was pranking me and waiting for me to fall for it or if he genuinely didn’t remember I was the ” girl” who made the stupid decision to switch careers after getting into one of the toughest majors known to man.

If he was pranking me, I guess he fell for it himself but if he genuinely didn’t recognize he was reiterating my story to me, then what does that say of our memory, especially when it comes to remembering faces and matching names to those faces and what face said what? I do not hold him in any form of contempt because he is completely entitled to his opinion albeit the fact that it is regarding my life, which as a mentor, he owed it to me to be honest and open.

I know he has quite a handful of mentees but certainly, we can’t be that numerous that he wouldn’t remember us by name and not know which one of us said what. Surely, it can’t be a case of the “all black people look alike” syndrome now can it? If my story stood out or stayed with him, shouldn’t my face stay with him too especially since I met with him at least four times this semester.

I guess one reason I am quick to let it slide off is because I know I am not good with names or faces too. It is either I remember the name and not the face or recognize the face and not remember the name that goes with it. Many people have said this happens to them too but I think that is when you only meet the person once every so often. I am working on getting better with that because it can so embarrassing sometimes.

Memory must be fleeting then if my mentor couldn’t remember me after a whole semester. I hope he works at remembering his mentees names because I don’t think someone else would have been as forgiving as I was after his sort of insulting opinion. There are so many lessons I learned from that conversation with him which I would not go into so I don’t bore you with a very long read, but if you want to know, let’s indulge in the comment section.

Do tell, has this ever happened to you? That someone was talking about you in your presence and they didn’t know it? Or have you done that to somebody before? How did either experience feel? Please share. Hope you have been having a blessed, wonderful and amazing week so far. I have had exam stress but glad I am almost done.

“I want a man who will make me laugh”. ” I like a guy who is funny”. ” he should have a good sense of humor”.

That is the first thing I always hear girls/women say every time they are asked, “what are you looking for in a man?” and it always leaves me shocked somewhat. And every time I hear that, I always answer/ say to myself, “naa, I don’t need a man to make me laugh,I am funny all by myself”. I have said that to myself so much that it is almost like a reflex action, as soon I hear that question, my answer is always right on cue.

Surprised?. You shouldn’t be because I am not just funny, I am hilarious.(don’t misinterpret this as pride). I remember the last job I worked at, the one time I walked in there moody, every one was asking me if I was alright and I was wondering why. So I asked one of my inquirers and she said, they had never seen me frown or sad, I was always happy and jovial and so they were genuinely concerned.

Recently, I missed class three times in a row for a course I was taking over the summer and when my classmates checked on me, the first thing they said was class wasn’t the same without me. They missed my jokes and laughter and one of them said, he liked how I always laughed even when something wasn’t not funny.

Enough praises already but you get the idea.(My aunt says one of the things she admires in me is how I don’t wait for anyone to praise me, I go right ahead and pat myself on the back when I accomplish something, who does that? Topic for another day) I don’t exactly think myself funny enough to humor others but somehow, people think I am funny.

I am that person who always and as cliché as it sounds, looks for the silver lining in everything. Sometimes I feel like someone should have a hidden camera in my car because that is where I have the most fun. I am a bit of a talkative and tend to have the urge to comment on everything I see, plus I am easily amused and I laugh a lot.

I am sure we can all agree that you come across the funniest things, thoughts and people while behind the wheel. Now where I may be different from you is , I vocalize those thoughts; somehow it always comes out funnier than I saw it or thought it and I find myself laughing hysterically for minutes on end. I am sure some drivers who have met with me at a red light have probably thought to themselves “who let this nut job on the road?”

I have been stressed up sometimes about situations and like every Christian, I went down on my knees to talk to God about it, sometimes wailing seriously, only to find myself laughing to the point of tears at the whole situation minutes later. I am the girl who laughs when someone else is laughing just because they are laughing. I am the girl who would think about a past event and laugh myself to the floor, I am sometimes the only girl laughing in the movie theater at a scene that every one thought was unfunny and I am usually the first one to laugh and the last one to stop laughing in a circle.

I laugh at myself, my stupidity, my mistakes, my flaws, my shortcomings. I laugh at people who take themselves too seriously when they shouldn’t, I laugh for people who are too beaten or have too much egos to laugh at themselves, I laugh at the little things, I laugh at the big things, I laugh even when I have no reason to laugh at all. Laughter like crying is very therapeutic. Where crying lightens the burden, laughter takes it away, though only for a brief moment.(Research is still pending)

I guess I inherited this somewhat free spirit from my mother ( this lady deserves a post or two all by herself) because she is the only one whom I know that doesn’t take things too seriously. It doesn’t mean I am masking anything or hiding behind laughter to avoid the things that I must do, It simply means that I have control over them. They are things/issues after all and I am the human. I just choose to laugh at them first before I deal with them and sometimes after too.

What am I saying? Kudos to all those who need people to make them laugh especially men. Me, I have so much more I expect from “my” man than his sense of humor, like how about his relationship with Christ?, does he share my core values towards family and how is his temperament? (yep, I need to know that because yours truly has the tendency to go crazy sometimes. Shocker.)

I have all these and more to worry about than his sense of humor, and if he has one, then it is a bonus for us. (laughing now at the picture of me and “my husband” always laughing at God knows what). If he doesn’t, oh well, he need not bother because I am funny for both of us.

So there, I don’t need a man to make me laugh because I am funny all by myself. What about you? Do you need a partner who makes you laugh or how do you approach life? Do you think life is a joke that like me, you are constantly laughing at? I would love to read your take. Meanwhile, Hope you have a wonderful day ahead. Don’t forget to share, how are you feeling today?.